A Silver Oakleaf
by Mari L. Anderson
Summary: My writing is my witness. I have committed a crime. Does it really deserve death?
1. Chapter 1

I guess I should start writing now. Commandant Crowley just left. I heard the lock click as expected. I guess he doesn't imagine that I will do much damage to the files. He is itching to keep looking over my shoulder to see what I write. He wants to know my full story and he will. He'll just have to come back and read the papers. For now, I want to think and write in peace. The room is quiet fortunately. There is a window behind me and it lets some light in. There are papers and filing cabinets everywhere in this room because it is the Ranger Archives. Anything important goes on. Anybody makes a name for themselves. The details get written up by Crowley or a junior Ranger and stowed here. Plus, all the monthly reports filed by the fifty Rangers are arranged chronologically. My father was a Ranger. I think if I looked I could find his reports on Brougham fief. I grew up there. That was where I first hit the bull's eye with both knives and arrows. But I'm rambling. I need to start the story from the beginning not the middle. My name is Maia Marion. My father was a Ranger. Maybe you are wondering what a Ranger is. It seems silly to put an explanation in for the Rangers reading this paper, but Crowley said I should be complete.

Any child in Araluen could tell you about the Rangers, but I don't know if they'd tell you rightly. The Rangers are the best archers and spies on the island. There are fifty fiefs with a Ranger for each. The common people say that they are black magicians, but they aren't. They've just learned how people think, and how to stay hidden. Most Rangers don't marry or they retire before they have children. My father was different. He was torn between the woman he loved and his silver oak leaf, symbol of a Ranger. In the end, she made up his mind when she calmly stated that she would be a Ranger's wife or not at all. She loved him as long as she lived, which wasn't all that long. She died when I was born. A life for a life, in a way. Of course, I don't remember her. I wish my father would have spoken about her more, but whenever I asked he always went silent and looked into the distance like he was sighting a far shot. All I have of my mother is a green stone pendant. The only explanation I ever got was that it was my mother's and that she always wore it.

I wish I knew where it came from or why she wore it.

The closest person I ever had to a mother was the housekeeper/governess from the village. She was plain as a fencepost but the sweetest person I ever met. When I was ten she married and moved away to another village. She would have kept in touch but she soon had children, which kept her from visiting, and she never learn her letters. I think my father liked having her around the house during the day. It turned a building into a home. After the she left, Father didn't get another housekeeper, so I was alone whenever he went away. I kept house by myself, sometimes weeks on end. When I was alone, I didn't really live in the house. I slept in trees, fished, hunted, dug for roots.

Except for digging roots. I stopped that after I made a mistake, ate the wrong root, and got sick. I would've died if one of the women from the village hadn't checked on me. That was the catalyst for the women of the town to send a kind of delegation to speak to my father on the proper way to bring up a child. The stridency of their demands that I be allowed to live with one of them when Father went away only increased when I slipped from my perch on the roof where I'd been eavesdropping. Reluctantly, he agreed.

I didn't.

The next time he left, chaos reigned upon house of the woman who had taken me in. Everything was not where it should be. The milk somehow curdled during the night. The eggs all disappeared though there was certainly no fox in the area. The cows broke their fence and ran wild over the countryside until they were rounded up. The yarn she set me to spin tangled itself. All the needles I used broke. After a few days, she had had enough and told me to return to my house.

And that was the end of that.

When I was eleven, my father surprised me with a colt. He was a black and white pinto. I named him Patch. We grew together. He is good company. I still ride him today.

When I was twelve, my father gave me the first of several bows. You see, my father always wanted a son to follow in his footsteps. No matter what I did, I always felt inadequate. I wasn't what he wanted. Nevertheless, he did teach me the skills of a Ranger. He wanted me to be safe when he wasn't there to protect me. I am sorry to say that I did not use the ability to walk unseen very wisely. I sneaked around pulling pranks and tricks on people I didn't like. And I exposed secrets better left in the dark. I hurt people in a way that could never really heal. All that was pretty small though; my father turned a blind eye or gave me a talking to. I didn't learn.

Or rather, I did, but it was about archery not what's right and what's wrong.

Matters only came to a head when items in the village started disappearing. They were small things such as wallets, purses, and the like. Father couldn't believe it when I was dragged to the castle by the ear by a man-at-arms proclaiming I had stolen his wallet. I had. It was really just for challenge; I was going to give them back when I had a chance. In the end, everything was returned, but the damage was done. The mood in the town toward me turned from something close to pity, to suspicion, and hostility. My father kept a closer eye on me after that. He decided that the best way to keep me out of mischief was to keep me busy. I learned to read and write. I learned to sew and fletch.

But he still went away. There was nothing he or I could do about that.

Things were quiet after the pick-pocketing incident. My thirteenth birthday came and went without any celebration. Father made sure that I only went into town with him. I learned much, but was lonely. Sometimes, he would go to the castle. But, before he went he was sure to assign me a task that would occupy me for the entire time. One night though, I slipped into town. I reveled in the freedom, but stuck to the shadows. I didn't want anyone to comment that I had been there.

After wondering around for a while, the darkness of the tavern alley invited me in. I pressed up against the wall and listened to the hum of conversation within. I saw a few farm women trundle in. They settled right by the wall where I was listening and drowned out all the other talk with their hen-like gossip. I was getting up to leave when I heard my name. "…that girl, Maia, it's a wonder she isn't running 'round naked like a barbarian. Did you hear? That Ranger left her for three weeks! Alone!"

"Well I never," interjected a second.

The original speaker picked up her thread of speech again: "I actually saw that poor Maia the other day when I was delivering a few eggs. She's dressed in rags, at least not a proper skirt. I have half a mind to sew one and take it down. I just can't stand to see a child in need."

My hands clenched into fists. I was not in rags. I had been riding. A long skirt would get in the way so I wore an old one. I had several long skirts, thank you very much.

A third was speaking: "Bertha, don't waste your fabric on the little beggar. Why, she stole my Alf's purse, right off of his belt she did." There were general murmurs of agreement.

For a moment my vision turned red. I wanted to burst into the tavern and tell them they were wrong.

I didn't. As the woman Bertha started talking again, I melted into the darkness of the night.

The town was not a draw to me after that.

Two months later, my father and I started to saddle break Patch. He was already halter broken; he had been before he was a year old. I wasn't able to ride for several more months but Patches and I became even closer friends. Indeed, he was my only friend.

On my fourteenth birthday, my father gave me a second bow. It was much heavier than the first. I was a skilled archer and the new bow extended. Also on that day, I rode Patch for the first time. Sometimes when Father was teaching me a secret of the woodland, I would wonder why he hadn't retired from the Rangers so we could be together more. I still don't know why he stayed so long.

A few weeks later, I tracked and shot my first deer. My father was so proud that night. I almost felt he accepted me as a girl. A month after that, strange things started happening to me. For the first time, I sought the council of an older woman. She nodded sagely and said, "Aye, it is the way of women. You will have to live with it." I eventually accepted it.

The morning of my fifteenth birthday had not yet dawned when there was a thunderous crash in my room and my father routed me out of bed. All he would say was to hurry. We rode until the sun came up and lit a beautiful grassy hill. Then we sat and breakfasted. It was very peaceful. The birds were singing. The dew was still on the grass. The world was new and fresh. For the first time in a long time, I was truly happy. My father reached into his saddle bags, pulled out a small bundle, and handed it to me with a kiss on the cheek. "Happy birthday, Maia."

It was a saxe knife and throwing knife. Ranger issue.


	2. Chapter 2

I know now why I received that particular birthday present. My father was afraid. As you know, unrest was growing in the kingdom. But as you may not know, (I am writing to the non-Ranger reader) the Ranger Corps was under attack. The traitor Morgarath who nearly overthrew the kingdom was destroying the Corps from the inside. Already he had banished, imprisoned or executed nearly all of the seasoned members. He had appointed worthless lay-a-bouts and made the Corps a byword and laughing stock. My father was feared for his life and mine. He was without direction from the king. He did the best he could. In years past, he had traveled much because Brougham fief where he was stationed was quiet. The Corps used him whenever they needed extra help in a different fief. He was no longer getting this kind of commands. He use the time gained to teach me more. I was his de facto apprentice.

I knew absolutely nothing of this.

Before you judge that I am oblivious let me explain. I really had no contact with the world outside my cabin. The reason for this was partially that my father never let me play with the village children. In fact, he told them to stay away or face the consequences from him. So, I always played alone. After the pick-pocketing, I was lucky to get even a cold nod from the farmers. When I had to buy something from the village I was as quiet as possible and did not speak unless spoken to. Patch was my only companion. That, in a way, was the problem. I had no source of news other that my father. If he did not tell me something, I did not know. When things changed, the shock was like a bucket of cold water.

It started early on a seemingly normal morning. I heard my father rise early and move around the cabin. I didn't hear the clank of pans so I knew he was not cooking an early breakfast. The only other thing he would do at such an unholy hour of the morning would be pack. That was the strange thing. No letter bearing the oak leaf insignia of the Ranger Corps had arrived. Thus my father had no orders to go anywhere. He would have told me if he was going to ride to a town in the fief. Curiosity goaded my until I got up.

The first thing I noticed was that he had all his clothes, even his spare cloak. One of the outfits was formal, so he wouldn't take it unless he were attending a banquet or working as an ambassador. He was also packing more food than usual, which also signaled a long journey.

"Where I you going?" I said, already resigned and only half interested.

"Norgate," my father replied. Norgate was a fief to the North. It guarded the pass to Picta and kept Araluen safe from raiders in that direction. My Father laced up his boots, belted on his knives, fastened his cloak, slipped his quiver over his shoulder, and gathered the saddlebags up. I had seen it many times. I followed him out to the stable. Patch nickered a greeting. Father was saddling Cavalier, his horse when I asked him another question.

"When will you be back?"

"I don't know." That made me interested. He gave me a peck on the cheek. "Six months at the earliest." He led Cavalier out of his stall. I could only stare in amazement to for a few moments.

"Six months?!" My father threw the sable bags on Cavalier's back and tied them. Then he turned put his hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eye.

"Maia, there's trouble in the kingdom. A rebel is vying for the kingship. Prince Duncan is massing an army in Norgate. He needs the help of the Rangers, so that means me." I was so startled by these revelations that I could only nod numbly. My father mounted. He was about to ride when a thought penetrated my haze.

"Wait! Let me go with you! I can help!" He looked at me with such tenderness.

"No."

I frowned, puzzled. "Why ever not?"

He closed his eye for a moment before answering. Then, he spoke calmly. "Maia, you are a skilled archer. You can hit the bull's eye with a knife nine time out of ten, but you aren't ready for a battle." He raised hand to stop my outburst. "I know you think you are, but the horror of it would destroy you. I think, if need be, you could fight, but I don't want that for you. I think you would be happier living a life away from combat." He hesitated a moment before continuing. "Ahem…Another reason is that you are weaker. You could endanger the lives of others. In the end, you will make your own choice of what life you will lead, but I do not want you to choose now."

I was hurt.

"As you wish Father."

He sighed. "I know when you're angry." I didn't meet his gaze. "I'm counting on you to watch the fief while I'm gone." I started.

"Are you serious? I'm not even a Ranger!"

He nodded decisively. "Yes. These are hard days. Many fiefs have a Ranger with no training. That was courtesy of the rebel Morgarath." I was honored by his trust.

"I will do my best." He smiled.

"Thank you. I'm sure you will. Oh, and by the way, there is a package for you in my room." He smiled with his mouth, but there was a deep sadness in his eyes. "I'll see you as soon as I can." He trotted away. Before the bend in the trail hid him from my sight, he stopped, turned in the saddle, and raised a hand in farewell. I returned the gesture.

It was the last time I ever saw him. There is so much I wish I had said, so much that I would have asked him about.

Of course, I didn't know that at the time, so although I was surprised by the new information, my surprise was drowned by the overwhelming curiosity sparked by my father's mention of a package for me.

I looked in his room. On his bed was a beautiful bow. It was exactly my size. There was also a new quiver of arrows. I raised the bow and drew it. Even straining, I couldn't pull it all the way back.

The realization hit me like a physical blow. I nearly released the bow string without an arrow. I relaxed the tension and dropped it like it was on fire. It was undoubtedly to be my sixteenth birthday present. "He isn't sure he's coming back," I said to the empty room. It was then that I was first afraid for the safety of my father. It was not to be the last.

I stared and the headboard of the bed blankly. The darkness in the room was lightening to grey. I suddenly noticed something hanging of the head of the bed. In my excitement over the bow, I had not noticed it. It was a cloak, but unlike the two I owned, this one was mottled grey and green like a Ranger's. "He wants me to look like one," I breathed in awe. As I lifted it, something fell to the floor. I picked of the stone pendant of my mother. My father had attached an explanatory note. I read it. Then I wept.


	3. Chapter 3

After about half an hour I collected myself. There was nothing to do but to ride to the castle and tell them that I was now the Ranger of the fief. I washed and dressed in my cleanest clothes. They were more utilitarian than pretty. I laced up the mottled cloak. Though it had no heavier than my other, it seemed to bear down on my shoulders. I was slinging my new bow over my shoulder when I realized it would be better to take the old one. I had never shot with the new one and couldn't even draw it fully. That would throw me off. If things got ugly, my aim would need to be true.

I walked out to the stable. My knives were heavy on my left hip. My bow was strung. I felt a breeze ruffle my still wet hair. A dark strand had already escaped the braid. The sun was not high in the sky. My mother's pendant was cool against my skin under my shirt. I was almost hyperventilating. My hand shook with tension. When I walked into the stable, Patch noticed.

_What?_ he asked.

"We're going to the castle."

He snorted. _Never saw that one coming._

"I know. I think they discounted us because of our charming personalities."

Patch made a rude noise.

I ignored him and blew dust off his saddle.

_Hey! Why the saddle? I thought we were going to the castle, not the king's court!_

I gathered up the tack and smiled "You know, I've come to realize that most people don't ride bareback. So, it we were to, say, ride up to a baron's castle, it might make a better impression for us to use a saddle." My smile melted. "Come on, Patch. Father might not be coming home. I need to do this." He lowered his head and pawed the ground.

_I know. Cavalier mentioned it to me. Just put the saddle on, and let's get this over with. _

The path that led from my house to the village and culminated in the castle had never stretched so long before. I held my bow in my left hand and with the other pulled up my cowl to hide my face. I realized my mouth was dry as I approached the gate. It was still early enough that nobody was hurrying in and out. The guards stepped into the path to stop me. "What be your business here?"

I tried to make my voice deeper and more gravelly than it was naturally."I am taking over as Ranger. Ranger Anthony has been called away, maybe for a long while." It was obvious they were skeptical. However, I looked the part well enough.

"Alright then, well, you may pass," said one after a long moment. I nudged Patch forward. "Oh by the way, Ranger," the words stopped me in my tracks. I twisted in the saddle. "The castle healer is good at helping sore throats."

What? said my mind. After a moment, I decided to dispense with the false voice. I didn't need people thinking I was infirm.

There were a few people, castle workers and such, moving and passing through. I dismounted in the courtyard. The door to the keep is not in line with the outer gate. It faces east so that attackers will have to fight farther to attack the door. I led Patch around. There is a hitching post, but I didn't bother tying him. "Stay." I commanded. Since I said that, it would take a cataclysm to move him. My father and I trained him well.

As I opened the door, its hinges howled in protest. I ascended the stairs five flights of stairs, convinced another three guards and two servants who I was, and finally arrived at the baron's office. "He's up, he's always up," one of the servants had said. There was an antechamber where a secretary should have been. There was none. I steeled my nerves and rapped sharply on the inner door. "Oh come in," came a harsh voice from inside.

If he's this cheery in the morning, I don't want to see him in the afternoon, I thought as I pushed open the oaken door. My first vision of the baron since a young age was not a good one. His brown hair was tousled as if he had just rolled out of bed. He seemed soft, not quite fat. He was fidgeting with a quill in his right hand, while he scowled at an offending paper held in the other. His boots were propped up on the desk and his chair tipped back. He glanced up. The legs of his chair banged on the floor as he hurriedly jerked his legs off the desk, almost knocking over his inkwell in the process. He asked the obvious question. "Who are you? What are you doing in my office?" I resisted the urge to say, you invited me. Though I knew it would be courteous to reveal my face, I kept my hood up.

"You are Baron Sleslee I presume?" He nodded slightly. "I am Maia," I said, stressing the syllables (May-i-uh) so he would hopefully remember it and pronounce it correctly. "I have been assigned here because your former Ranger was called away suddenly." The Baron's face was suspicious.

"You're a girl. You're not even twenty unless I miss my mark. Why is the Ranger Corps sending my kids? Rude kids at that." I raised my head a little. I could augment my height no more because I was already standing as tall as my five foot three inch frame allowed.

"Baron, these are troubled times. I am young, but well trained, and know my duties. I will not fail." He was not convinced.

"Well, if you are a Ranger, where's your oak leaf?"

I only panicked slightly because I had already decided what I was going to say. I drew closer to the desk and pulled the green pendant from my collar. "This," I said, "is the mark of the special forces. We are the elite." I sighed as if embarrassed. "Actually, we're just those in training for that position. The stone's black if we've been approved by the king." There were a few more questions in his face.

"Why haven't I heard of you people before? And why are you wearing Ranger garb?"

I shrugged. "We're just called Scouts. We're trained so that when we turn eighteen we can choose to be apprenticed to a diplomat, knight, Ranger, or of course if we're good enough, be appointed to the king's body guard. So, you never really hear about the Scouts, just about which profession we choose."

He looked surprised, but believed every word. "I've certainly learned something today." He stood. "I will send you a guide to show you around." I smiled.

"You don't really have to do that. I've been here before. I know where the cabin is. I'll be around." Baron Sleslee nodded with grudging respect.

"I will see you."

"Maybe you won't," I muttered once I was out of earshot.


	4. Chapter 4

Everything was peaceful after that first meeting. Three weeks slipped by without anyone really noticing. I split my time between watching happenings at the castle and practicing with my new bow. I was pretty sore until I got strong enough to draw it fully. The castle people were wary of me, but not hostile or scared. One thing I remember noticing almost immediately at the castle was that everyone was tense. There was weapons practice for the Battle School Apprentices almost every day. They seemed to be a tough lot. I wasn't worried for them. The knights of the castle were seasoned. They would bring those boys home. Something else troubled me, though, and it was because I didn't know how to fix it.

The archers of the castle were quite substandard. It was certainly not from lack of practice. No, they met as often as the Battle School. After watching for a few days to be sure, I knew it was the instructor, Errol Clessy. He could hit the target well enough, and appeared to be the oldest, so I guess that is why he was chosen. However, his form was abysmal. He use mainly arm strength, kept his left arm too rigid, and hunched his shoulders slightly. This was what he taught. Maybe some would have disagreed, but he was the sort with which there is no argument. Given that information, it is obvious why I was reluctant to confront him. I didn't know what I could say that would convince him that I, someone half his age, should start teaching the archers.

One afternoon there was a new archer. He looked a year or two older than me. The young man was getting quite a bit of attention from Clessy because his form was "wrong." It was actually generally correct, only needing more practice to be perfect.

After a volley where the young man completely ignored the directions he had been given (good job!), Clessy stormed over. "No, no, no," he roared, "that's not right at all."He began to adjust the boy's stance. "Right arm out like this…left arm needs to—" A vicious hiss of an arrow four feet from his head cut his instruction short. Two more followed in as many seconds. All of them hit the center of the target. I lowered my bow. He twisted around his face going crimson with fury. "What in tarnation do you think you're doing?" I walked quickly down to stand in front of him. There was no sign in his face that he recognized me as a Ranger. I think it was because my hood was thrown back so he only saw I was a girl.

"I was showing your men some proper archery." Clessy did know what to say to that. I used the silence to speak to the young man. "Show me how you shoot," I commanded. He looked puzzled but I spoke with enough authority that he slowly drew back his bow. I stepped around Clessy. "You need to be tight here," I commented pointing at his stomach. I moved his right elbow back a little while saying, "Imagine you are pushing your shoulder blades together. You'll get more power that way." I stepped back. He started to lower the bow. "Shoot it," I ordered simply. He did. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than his other shots. Clessy watched this exchange with narrowed eyes. I faced him. His chest was puffed up, and his jaw was thrust out aggressively. His voice was barely controlled when he spoke.

"Get off my field, girl. Go back to your sewing where foolishness can't get people killed." He took a step toward me, entering my personal space. I was very scared, but tried not to show it. I raised my chin.

"Is this how you speak to a superior in rank?" My question stopped his momentum. "I am a Scout and can have you removed from your post for insubordination." I tried to say it with the same air I used I with the young archer, but I don't think I really succeeded. It did work, however, because Clessy took a step backward. He didn't seem to believe the whole Scout thing, but apparently he thought it would be better to make sure before throwing my bodily off the archery field. I bowed to him. "Mr. Clessy, it is your choice whether you want to watch or participate in the rest of practice." I turn my back on him and started teaching the class.

It was definitely an uphill battle. I was helped when Baron Sleslee backed up my claims, but the men were not happy with the change in leadership, and were angry they had so much to unlearn. Maldon, the young man, was a supporter.

Six months later, the old king of Araluen died. A week and a half later, a rider from the Prince-now-King Duncan appeared calling for all the men the fief could spare. How the messenger came so quickly I'm still not sure. I watched the archers march away with the knights and infantry, and prayed in my heart they were ready.

The castle was very quiet with only a garrison. Since there was really nothing for me to do, I returned to my old life. The silence and complete solitude from people in the forest was no longer inviting or comforting. I missed the gossip of the serving women and cooks. I had almost become friends with the baron. An ache of longing for friends I had never had opened up in my chest. I was torn between wanting to go on living as I had lived and desiring something new.

Then the morning came when my entire world came crashing down and broke into a thousand pieces. The day before, I had been half-heartedly practicing archery and unseen movement, trying to recover my old feelings of happiness. All I had managed to do was loosen the fletching on three arrows, and rip my cloak on a briar bush. I was sitting on the porch mending those and a few other things that were broken, when Harold, a messenger from the castle, rode around the bend. I, of course, had heard the hoof beats, but I knew the gaits of the castle horses and thought it was one of them. Besides, if it hadn't, I would have had ample time to shoot it. I pitied Harold a little because he was constantly getting ribbed by other errand riders, "Harold the herald," they jeered. I set down my work and stood. He was riding quickly. His mount looked tired. I guess he had many letters to deliver. His normally smiling face was sober today. A vague cloud of foreboding gathered on the horizon of my mind. He pulled up at the front steps. I walked down them to be level with his stirrup. He fished in his mail pouch and pulled out an official looking letter with the oak leaf crest stamped upon it. He held it out to me wordlessly. I took it. "Thank you?" It was supposed to be thanks, but it came out more like a question.

"I'm sorry. I really am." The cloud thickened to a thunderhead. He shrugged.

"I don't know anything." Were there tears in his eyes? "You know I don't tamper with the mail. Good day." Without further word he rode away, and I was left standing with the letter in my hand both mystified and scared.


	5. Chapter 5

My foreboding became visceral fear. Nothing could have happened-? No, don't go there said another part of my mind. Half of me wanted to throw away the letter and never see it again. As if, by destroying the paper I could change reality, and undo what every tidings it held. I returned to the porch and opened the letter with my saxe knife. Immediately something fell out and jingled on the boards of the porch. I bent down to pick it up. The letter fell from my hand. I didn't need to read it to know what it said. It felt as though a great hole had opened up in my chest. I straightened slowly, staring at what had come in the letter.

It was my father's silver oak leaf. The chain was broken. I know it was his because there was a small notch in it where I had hit it with my throwing knife (long story). I sank down into one to the chairs on the porch gazing at the path from my house. I have seen him ride back on that trail countless times. I realized that, in a way, I thought him invincible. I couldn't process that he wouldn't ever come around the bend again. I didn't cry then. I did it later. I was just so shocked by the sheer impossibility of it all. After a while, I picked up the letter and read it. It went something like:

"Miss Maia Marion, it is my unhappy duty to inform you that your father, Ranger Anthony Marion, was killed at the battle of Hackham Heath. He died valiantly and he shall be missed greatly by the Ranger Corps. Though we share your grief, it is expected that you will vacate the premises of the Ranger cabin within five days of receiving this letter so that another Ranger may take up his duties in Brougham fief.

Enclosed in the envelope is your father's silver oak leaf which is being given to you as a keepsake. Any improper use of this token will result in severe punishment such as death or life imprisonment. Again, we grieve deeply at your loss.

Sincerely, Commandant of the Ranger Corps,

Crowley"

I must actually thank Crowley for his letter because it made me angry to shake off my sorrow and act. I decided that I would figure out a way to make Crowley pay for his heartless letter. (I'm only writing this because I have changed my mind and because he apologized for the mistake of a secretary sending a letter he shouldn't have.) I finished mending my cloak with a vengeance. Then, I took everything out of my dresser and packed it in one of the saddle bags. Though I have three skirts of differing weights, I also have two tunics. I packed the rest with all the food in the house. There were pots and pans hanging in the kitchen, but I knew they stayed with the cabin. I burned the letter and then saddled Patch. He knew from the look on my face and what I was doing that Father must be dead. There was simply no other explanation. I hung my old bow on the saddle. I sold it later in a village because I needed food and a new cloak. I walked through the house and tucked the last bits and bobs into the bags—I kept my father's oak leaf in my pocket. I glanced back once before the cabin was hidden from view. Part of me desperately wanted to stay until Crowley whoever dragged me away. The other part never wanted to see it again because my Father wouldn't be there or ever have a hope of returning. I felt like my former life was disappearing around the bend.

I knew that I must inform the Baron I was leaving my post, so I rode to the castle. I again walked up the five flights of stairs, the servants now standing aside deferentially for me. I knocked once on the office door, waited for the same grumpy, "Oh come in," and entered. The baron looked much the same as I had first seen him, save, he did not have his boots on his desk. I inclined my head.

"My lord."

He nodded in return, "What brings you here Maia?"

"I am leaving this post." He neither smiled nor frowned.

"Does this mean that Ranger Marion is returning?" My throat tightened and I lowered my face to hid my prickling eyes. Finally, I replied,

"No, my lord. He is dead." I could not see the baron's shock, but I could hear it in his voice.

"Dead? In the battle?"

"Yes." I raised my eyes to his face once more. He looked sober and sorrowful.

"The Ranger Corps has lost a great man. He was a skilled Ranger." I swallowed hard, barely holding myself together.

"Could…could you do one other thing for me?" I said huskily.

"Certainly. What would you like?"

I steeled my voice in an attempt to keep it from cracking. "Would you draw up a count of the dead and wounded in the group of archers when they return?" His eyes were gentle.

"Yes, Maia, I can do that."

I studies the wood of his desk. "Thank you. I am going North for a few weeks. Do you think the archers will have returned by the time I get back?"

The baron nodded. "Probably." There was a question written on his face. "Where are you going in the north?"

"Hackham Heath." He sighed.

"Do you think you could go a bit farther, to Norgate?" There was only confusion I my mind and on my face.

"Why?"

"Ranger Marion had a friend up there: a healer named Malcolm. I just thought it might be nice to tell him."

"I think I can do that," I said with a trace of a smile. "Where does he live exactly?"

"In the town around Macindaw, I think."

"A healer named Malcolm at Macindaw in Norgate," I muttered to myself. I bowed to the baron. "By your leave, my lord, I will depart." The baron smiled and stood holding out his hand. A little hesitantly, I shook it.

"May good fortune follow your way Maia."

"Thank you, my lord." He shook his head.

"I don't say that as your lord, but simple a friend wishing you luck."

I once again bowed my head to hide my tears.

In a clearing outside of town I cut off my waist length black braid so I could pass for a boy. Seemingly like the rest of my former life, I left it to fade away in the forest I loved so much. I left Brougham that day and haven't returned since except to see who of the archers returned. Sometimes I regret that. But, I know this, things are always better in memory. If I did return, my memories of the place would never be the same. I want my remembrances of my Father to be as unmarred by the passage of time as possible.

_I would just like to take the time here to respond to a review the story got asking what crime Maia committed. I have already included hints of what it will be, and there are more in the next section. Please just give this story some time. It hasn't quite gotten to that part yet, but it will, just be patient, if you please. Thanks!_


	6. Chapter 6

_There is a lot of talking in this part of the story. Bear with it, please. There is much more suspense, action, and intrigue later in the story. Enjoy!_

I followed wagon trains and directions from other travelers to the army's camp at Hackham Heath. I was stopped at the entrance to the gate by a nice enough looking guard with a strong northern peasant accent. "What be ye wantin'?"

"I was wondering where the dead were buried." His cheerful face immediately crumpled into sobriety.

"Sorry, sorry," he muttered. "I don't be knowin' where everyone were buried, but most of 'em were o'er there." He pointed east of camp toward a line of hills. I studied him a moment.

"Thank you for telling me." For a moment a toyed with the idea of asking him about my father, but I decided there was no way he could know.

I lead Patch between neat rows of fresh but unmarked graves. I wondered how many of the archers I had trained now lay beneath the earth on this hill. I shivered involuntarily at the thought. As dusk fell, my steps wandered to the edge of the rough cemetery. I mounted Patch, preparatory for riding away, when a thought struck me. I brought out my father's silver oak leaf; weighing it in my right hand. I had intended to leave it on my father's grave. I considered. Half of me wanted to throw the oak leaf on to the cemetery randomly in honor of my father. The other half of me kept saying that there was no point. It could be useful, said a small dark voice. That honestly was what scared me. I knew that if I kept the oak leaf I would probably use it, and maybe not for good. No, I wouldn't, couldn't, do that. Slowly, I put the oak leaf back in my pocket. After all, what harm could there be in keeping a memento?

I turned Patch's head north toward Norgate.

Though that journey to the aforementioned fief was probably the least eventful of any I have undertaken, I was the most fearful of all my wanderings. I had not learned of to travel without drawing attention to myself. I did not know how different I was from the rest of Araluen. Fortunately, I escaped notice and harm because of the plethora of strange characters on the roads in the aftermath of the war.

My direction of travel was rather staggering. I had some idea of the geography of Araluen, but had never studied it in depth. Some of the farmers I asked for directions stared at me blankly and gave a vague gesture North when I mentioned Norgate. The one good thing was that my disguise of boyhood seemed to fool people.

As I drew closer to Norgate, people began mentioning a remarkable healer named Malcolm who lived near castle Macindaw. I finally met one peasant who swore Malcolm had brought his son back to life. Whether that was true, I have no idea. I did have idea now of where Malcolm lived.

After about a week of gentle travel, I arrived at the outskirts of the town surrounding castle Macindaw. It was late in the evening so I camped for the night. I didn't light a fire. I didn't want to be seen. I rose very early the next morning; I was up before the summer birds. All I had left of food was a little venison jerky which had the consistency of an old boot. I ate in after much effort chewing.

In the end, finding Malcolm's cabin was easy. It was set apart from the other village houses, like any house of the sick would be. There was just enough space to give one the impression that the village houses had huddled close to get as far away as possible. The house was a little larger than absolutely necessary; there was a room off the back and a porch. Besides, if I was wrong and the healer lived in a different house, I could always just ask for directions. I rode to the porch steps and warily climbed them. The top one squeaked and then sagged so suddenly that I tripped with a thump. Before I could knock, the door was opened be a small man in simple homespun clothes. His eyes were bright and hazel. He obviously had been awake for a little while as his hair was not tousled from sleep. His movements were swift and almost constant, reminding me of a sparrow. He bowed slightly. "How do you do, miss? Is there something I can do for you?"

I was very startled by this man to say the least. I couldn't understand how he had seen through my boyish garb. I wasn't sure what to say. I hadn't even knocked and he'd known I was there. "Yes?" I said hesitantly, not sure if it was the right answer.

"Well then, come in if you want, or do Rangers prefer the open air?" I stepped back at that. I felt like someone had poured brandy on a very fresh cut. Unbidden my eye filled with tears.

"I'm not a Ranger," I muttered at last.

"Ahh…yes, forgive me." He peered intently at me. "You would be Anthony's daughter, wouldn't you? He spoke often of you." I covered my face. I couldn't stop the tears now. He clucked gently, put an arm around me and steered me inside. "There, there. Come inside and have a nice, hot cup of coffee."

The inside of the cabin was amazing.

Plants of every size, shape, and smell imaginable hung from the rafters. A cheery fire burned in the grate even though it was not cold outside. There was a kettle on. Malcolm led me to a chair and I collapsed. There was something indefinably homey and inviting about Malcolm's abode. A moment later he brought me a steaming mug of coffee. I inhaled the rich scent of the drink. It was wonderful. I cupped my hands around the mug, looked at Malcolm, and attempted a smile. "Thank you," I said quietly. I couldn't express how much his simple kindnesses meant to me. He sat down opposite me with his own mug.

"Now," he said, "do you think you could explain why you're here?"

"Well," I began and paused.

I had no idea how I was going to tell him something I didn't fully believe myself.

The silence stretched. Malcolm watched me with his bright hazel eyes. I took a deep breath. "My father is dead." Malcolm nodded sadly.

"I know."

"How?" I said puzzled.

"He wouldn't miss the chance to talk over a pot of coffee. Besides, I doubt he would have trusted you to the mercies of the open road."

It hurt so badly to hear him talk in a knowledgeable way about my father. However, it felt good in a way, like pulling out a splinter. I took a deep breath and voiced the request that I had decided on as I rode from Hackham Heath.

"Would you, for his sake, help me?" Malcolm's bright eyes considered me for a moment.

"Are you hurt? On the outside I mean."

"No." I sipped some of the coffee. "I just don't know what to do. My father didn't really teach me a trade."

"He did not teach you the way of the Rangers?" asked Malcolm quizzically.

"Ye-es," I drew the word to two syllables, "in a way."

"Well, if you qualify, why not try and join? I'm sure they're short-handed after the rebellion."

"Rangers don't accept women. Period."

"I don't see the harm in asking."

I laughed bitterly. "My father sure got in trouble. The Commandant nearly had a heart attack. My father was on probation for discharge for several months until the whole thing blew over."

"Oh."

We drank our coffee in silence for a few minutes.

There was a whine from the hearth. I started. Malcolm set down his mug and rose with a sigh. He beckoned me to come over. It was a wolf cub. "I was gathering herbs when I found it in a bush. It had dragged itself there, probably to die. Its mother wouldn't have abandoned it even with a broken leg so I don't know what happened. I brought it home and have been feeding it. The leg will mend in time." I watched as Malcolm pulled a bowl from the cupboard, filled it halfway with something, and put it before the cub. It rose on three legs and began eating ravenously. It was cute and very fluffy.

"What's his name?"

"He doesn't have one yet."

"Why?"

"I'm no good with names. Besides, none I've tried seem to fit."

I watched the cub eat. He had sharp white teeth. He was grey all over, but his head was much closer to black than the rest of his body. He reminded me of timber wolves I'd seen in the woods in Brougham fief. The thought of Brougham sent a stab of longing for old times to my heart. A fear chased closed on its heels. Fear for the archers of the castle. I suddenly wanted to leave and to ride as fast as Patch could take me back to Brougham fief to find out what had happened. The awful thing was that I knew someone must have died. There was no way in a group that size that everyone had returned home.

Malcolm drained his cup.

"If you plan to go to the market, you'd better leave before anyone sees you've been in here." I was taken aback by this seemingly nonsensical statement.

"What?"

Malcolm turned toward me and his face suddenly looked pale and drawn. "The villagers, well, they don't trust me anymore."

"How's that possible? I heard one person swear you'd brought their son back to life."

"A young man died under my care. It shouldn't have happened, but it did. I think another healer has been spreading rumors that I am a black magician." Malcolm laughed humorlessly. "I've been here for ten years, you'd think that would be enough to earn respect."

"I'd say so," I commented cynically. My mouth twisted upward in a grim approximation of a smile. "I was going to ask you if I could stay, but now I don't think that would be wise." Malcolm shook his head slightly.

"It would not. I have heard whispers of trying to kill me. I may have to flee soon before they do." My hopes of finding a home crumbled beyond hope of repair. There was nothing here for me. I set my empty mug on the table with a soft thump. "I hope the villagers realize how great a healer you are before they turn you out." I stood. "Anyway, thank you for the coffee. I think I should go on my way." I bowed to him.

"Wait a moment if you would," he requested. I paused. "You didn't tell me your name."

"It's Maia."

"May-i-uh," he said slowly putting a curious emphasize on the syllables. "Could you take the wolf cub? I am loathed to ask you after refusing you a place to stay. I just was hoping you could find a good home for him. If I gave him to anyone here, he or she would kill him for a witch-dog." I glanced past Malcolm to the fireplace where the cub was once more curled up on the hearth rug.

I nodded. "I can do that."


	7. Chapter 7

_Thank you all who have read this far. This has been a really fun story to write. Please forgive that I push the rating a little in this chapter. The violence is not gratuitous. I added what was necessary to advance the plot line of the story. Thank you for understanding!_

I was filled with trepidation as I rode back South. To make my visit to Brougham a long story short, the gist of what the baron told me was this: six dead, four wounded, and three missing and presumed dead. Maldon, the young man who supported me, was one who was missing. It broke my heart to think of his young eager face still and cold in death. Something I didn't know lived, died in me that day. Over the next few days, I started seeing him in my dreams turned nightmare. I called the cub Brindle it was obvious from his coloring, but I've never been good with names. After that, I decided to keep him. I hadn't found anyone willing to take him, because I didn't look very hard, but still. Also, he was a good watch dog. He woke me before robbers could make off with my supplies. I was more careful after that. After my meager amount of money gave out, I started living off the land. I followed the harvest and working in the fields and doing odd jobs. I never knew where my next meal was coming from. I went to be hungry many nights. Though I didn't starve, my clothes got more loose and my face became leaner, a bit like Brindle's. About a year after I started wandering, I started passing through towns I'd visited before and found I was remembered as a diligent worker.

Almost four year passed this way. My twentieth birthday is this summer. Judging by the friendships with men I've had so far, I will be an old maid.

On a side note, I thank the reader of this report for bearing with my yammer for so long. I felt the need to explain myself. I don't deny that I deserve whatever punishment the king gives me, I just wanted tell that I did not what I did for any gain to myself.

The actions that led up to my arrest started on the borders of Seacliff fief. I had no particular reason for being there, but then, I had no particular reason for being anywhere else. I had decided to travel to the village surrounding the castle because I needed a new cloak. My constant travel and sleeping in the open had done a number on my clothes, but I had kept using my old cloak until it finally ripped irreparably. Truth be told, the mottled green and grey cloak was still nearly new, but I didn't want to wear it because it made me look like a Ranger. Since I had no other cloak and there was a chill I was wearing it. I had recently shot a deer and the hide from that and several rabbits would fetch enough for a new cloak and a few other things if I was creative.

It was a sunny day. The road had little traffic on it. I was riding a bit faster than the average traveler. Brindle jogged by my side. I am proud of the way I trained him. I heard the sound of carriage wheels ahead of me. I slowed my pace because I didn't really want to ride past them in the mottled cloak. The sound of the wheels faded into the back ground noises until I didn't notice it anymore. That is, until it stopped. I rode another six feet before I realized what had happened. A horse then a woman screamed in terror. There was a thud of something heavy hitting the ground. I stopped short of the bend in the trail that was hiding the carriage from my view and plunged into the bushes. There were raised voices of several men I couldn't see yet. "Stand down. We will not harm your person if you cooperate." From that sentence it was pretty obvious what was going on. Brindle followed soundlessly. I dismounted and crept to the edge of the trees. Eleven bandits surrounded the carriage brandishing various weapons. The leader had opened the door, and the couple riding in the carriage were shakily leaving. There were thumps and muted bangs as the bandits rolled the couple's trunks off the roof of the carriage. There was a man slumped in the driver's seat with a trickle of blood down his temple. The noble's man-at-arms was sprawled awkwardly on the road in a still spreading pool of crimson, a cross bow bolt buried in his chest. A horse, apparently belonging to the man-at-arms, stood nervous and riderless. I appraised the situation. I could shoot the two crossbowmen, and probably the leader, and maybe another before the rest reached me or went to ground. At that point I didn't like my odds in hand to hand combat with six men. I could attempt hold them at arrow point, but they wouldn't respect the skill of a lone archer. My father's silver oak leaf which I wore around my neck grew hot. Or would they?

If I impersonated a Ranger I would most certainly save the valuables and maybe the lives of this couple. The only downside was that I could be executed for it. Only if you're caught, a voice said inside my head.

Yes, but the baron will recognize you're not the fief's Ranger, said another.

You can just pull the same stunt as will Baron Sleslee, offered a third.

Better yet, don't give your name or go up to the castle, and they'll never know which Ranger saved them, replied the first. A storm of protest erupted from the other two. I was frozen with indecision.

The bandits were rifling through the contents of the trunks. They scattered all the belongings not of value across the road. Eventually, there were no others to go through. The couple standing in the road, were clinging to one another for support. The man was tall with salt and pepper hair and a hooked nose. The woman was of middling height and somewhat plump. The man who appeared to be the leader of the bandits, jumped down from the roof of the carriage. Three others of the men closed in around the couple. They grabbed the man and dragged him away from the woman struggling furiously. The leader reached toward her. The woman screamed. I decided. I flipped the cowl back from my face, the better to see to shoot and lept from the cover of the bushes.

My first arrow buried itself in the leader's neck. The next two knocked the crossbowmen to the ground to rise no more. The remaining bandits dove for cover. The noble woman fell to the ground in a dead faint. The noble man, released by bandits afraid for their own skins, rushed to her side. I bounded out into the open and shouted at the top of my voice, "King's Ranger, surrender and drop your weapons if you value your lives!" My shout sounded more like a high pitched squawk than a commanding roar, but it got the job done. Brindle followed my leap and with a sound between a howl and a bark he jumped upon the nearest bandit. There was a sudden clatter as a bandit stood up from the bushes by the side of the road with his hands in the air. I jerked the head of the arrow a little, gesturing at the road. "Kneel." I thought of something my father had said about people believing strange things about the Rangers. I had an idea. I gave a cold chuckle. "Do you think that some scrub can really hide you from my sight? I will start shooting on the count of three. One…two…thr—" The rest of the bandits abruptly came into view like fish jumping in a stream. "Brindle!" I called sharply. Reluctantly, he got off of the man he'd attacked. Brindle was a fierce some sight as he paced to my side, all his hair was on end making him appear almost twice his normal side. His snout and front claws were stained red. The man he attacked scrambled backward clutching a bite on his arm while scratches on his forehead dripped blood into his eyes. Brindle was still snarling at the bandits. At that moment, I was very glad he was not my enemy.


	8. Chapter 8

The bandits stumped forward and knelt in the road. I licked my dry lips and whistled through my teeth sharply for Patch. The noble lord was watching me closely. The woman was still insensible. There was some rope on the saddle but I didn't dare let down my guard enough to take it off. I called to the man. "Sir, would you be so kind as to tie up this scum?" He looked startled, but came slowly toward me. My eyes didn't follow him. "The rope is on the saddle," I commented lightly. He pulled the rope off the saddle and moved toward the first bandit and started to tie his hands. "Move closer together, you!" I ordered the bandits. They hastily shuffled to obey. There were seven left, the noble left the injured man off the line to tend his wounds. .

The noble man knew how to tie tight knots, I observed. His hands were calloused so I knew that he had some experience with physical work. The bandits were tied rather too close to walk easily, but no one except them really cared. The end of the rope was tied to the carriage so that they couldn't run. The driver and the noblewoman were revived by with a few whiffs of the smelling salts that were in their bags. Hen-like, the women immediately began to gather up her belongings and stow them tidily in the trunks. With the nobleman's help, I dragged the three robber dead to the side of the road and covered them with branches and undergrowth. We did not have the tools to properly bury them. After that, he laid the body of the man-at-arms over the man's horse and I bound the wrists and ankles together so that the body wouldn't fall off. The horse was very skittish and didn't like the smell of death. Finally, the nobleman and the driver heaved the trunks back onto the roof of the carriage. All this work was done in silence. Suddenly, the nobleman exploded. He grabbed my arm. "You let him die!"—gesturing at the man-at-arms—"You couldn't have gotten here a little sooner? They attacked my wife. All the Ranger Corps for this fief is a girl not passed twenty. Samuel was a good man. He's dead because of you!" He had shouted all of this in my face. Unbidden, tears came into my eyes.

"Don't you think I know that?" my voice was broken as I answered. I stared at the nobleman and he softened marginally.. He let go of me. I suddenly remembered I was supposed to be playing the role of a Ranger. I inclined my head, using the brief moment of privacy to try and find composure. "I can't do any more. I need to go." I turned to go.

"Wait," he said. I pivoted back to him, butterflies suddenly fluttering in my stomach. "What is your name?"

All I could think of was my father, dead because no one had been there to help him, just like Samuel, so I said, "Tony. Tony Marion."

He studied me with a very penetrating gaze. "I ask pardon for my hasty words. I know that the Rangers are doing all they can." I shrugged.

"I'm not quite the Ranger that everyone hopes for."

He inclined his head. "Really though, are you a full Ranger or just an apprentice?"

I reached up and pulled the silver oak leaf out of my collar. "This is my silver oak leaf."

He looked slightly skeptical. "I was simply surprised by your youth…and your womanhood."

"My father was a Ranger. He trained me from very young."

The noble man paused and extended a hand. "My name is Kareth. My wife is Yolanda. Would you grant me a favor?" His eyes were a clear guileless blue.

I nodded because I knew a Ranger would. "I will if I can."

"Well then, would you ride to the castle with us? It would comfort my wife and it would be such a help to explain how you helped us with the bandits." It seemed a hole had opened up in my chest, with all the fear that blossomed there like an awful weed.

As soon as I started breathing again, swallowed and said yes. No true Ranger would refuse. I raised my cowl. I felt safe in the anonymity of the hood. Kareth was in the carriage. The bandits watched me in sullen silence. I glanced back at the road. There was dust kicked up everywhere, but showing clearly through were three red puddles, showing accusingly where I had killed three a shiver I faced away, picked up the lead rope of the man-at-arm's horse and mounted Patch. The carriage driver was twisted around in his seat, watching me. When I clucked to Patch, the coachman did the same. I stayed behind the line of bandits. I looped the lead rope over the saddle horn. Brindle padded beside me. I was beyond to the castle right after impersonating a Ranger was just asking to be caught and killed. I was the most afraid I have ever been in my life. It felt as if a chunk of ice had settled in the pit of my stomach.

The sun hung maddeningly low over the horizon. If it had been any higher, I would have pretended to ride on to the next town, however, there wasn't one near enough to make it before nightfall, and there was no good reason I could give for wanting to travel to quickly. Therefore, the lateness of our arrival dashed any hope I had of making an escape into open country. Of course, I could have just cut and run, but then every Baron and Ranger in Araluen would have been on the lookout for me. The only good thing that had happened, was that Brindle had cleaned himself in a stream we passed so he no longer looked rabid. The guards stopped the carriage at the gate. I nudged Patch closer to them so I could speak without raising my voice.

"Who are you, and why are those men tied to the carriage? And who was he?" brusquely demanded the guard, gesturing first at the disconsolate bandits and then at Samuel the dead man-at-arms.

I took a tone of command similar to that which I had used in my days as an archery instructor. "King's Ranger," I stated calmly, pulling the silver oak leaf out of my collar. "They are bandits in my custody. I must speak with the baron so that they may be tried for assault. The dead man was the lord and lady's man-at-arms escort." The guard saluted, and nodded to his colleague on the other side of the gate to let us pass. The carriage trundled into the courtyard with the bandits trudging after it. Patch's hooves and the hooves of Samuel's horse clopped on the drawbridge. Brindle, my ever present shadow, was still at my side. I dismounted in the courtyard. People talked and shouted. Merchants were still hawking their wares from under brightly colored awnings. Dogs barked and chickens cackled adding to the general noise. There was still fear in my gut. If the Ranger of the fief were not at the castle, I would not be immediately found out because none of the Barons know all the Rangers. However, if he was, I would be called out as a fraud and would have to make a hasty exit. I had decided on my story. The carriage door opened and Kareth disembarked and helped his wife down. I tap him on the shoulder. He turned. "Kareth, would you mind keeping an eye on the bandits?" I glanced over at the men in question and then raised my voice slightly so that they could hear. "I shouldn't be long, and they'd be fools to try anything. There are archers on the walls." The fact I pointed out for their benefit was quite applicable to me as well because I might be trying to escape soon.


	9. Chapter 9

Kareth responded in the affirmative. So leaving the bandits under his watchful gaze, I crossed the courtyard and entered the keep door, Maldon at my heels. I racked my brain for the name of the Baron of Seacliff from the lists of noble names my father had set me to memorize . I couldn't remember. I shrugged mentally and decided just to call him Baron. I ascended two flights of stairs, stopped to ask for directions, and ended up in the large waiting room of an office. A bored looking male secretary was writing at a paper littered desk.

"How can I help you?" he asked and dull, uninterested voice.

"I need to see the baron, on ranger business." My tone came out much more confident than I felt, for which I was grateful.

"Go on in. He's not in a meeting right now. Just leave your, er, dog, outside."

"Stay," I commanded Brindle. He whined. "Go on," I urged, flicking my hand at the floor. Brindle curled up in front of the secretary's desk giving me a baleful look. I took a deep breath, walked past the secretary, and pushed open the door of the baron's office, without pushing back my hood.

My first impression of the Baron of Seacliff was considerably more favorable than that of Baron Sleslee. The baron of Seacliff was every inch a commanding figure. He was quite tall. The clothes he wore were simple cut but of expensive material. He was pacing as I came in. As he turned, the light flashed on hair silvered with age and illuminated a scar on his left cheek. It looked like he had been sliced with a knife at some point. It gave me the impression that he had been a knight of some skill in his youth, or else one who could not duck. The baron gave a small start of surprise when he took in my Ranger cloak and longbow. He nodded to me. "Ahh, yes, Ranger. Forgive that arrangements have not been made for your arrival; the next patroller was not due for two more weeks." I was glad for the cowl that hid my face because I had no idea what he was talking about, and I think it would have showed. However, I did understand this: there was no Ranger at Seacliff. I didn't care what the baron meant by patrollers. I was just happy I wasn't going to become a wanted fugitive on the spot. I bowed.

I spoke slowly, choosing my words with care: "That…is no problem. I'm not on a regular patrol. I was sent to apprehend a group of bandits that were attacking travelers in your fief." As I mentioned the bandits, there was again a fleeting look of shock. It was immediately chased away by annoyance.

"Does the king question my ability to apprehend bandits in my own fief?" he snapped at me.

"I'm sorry, my lord, I had orders. I wasn't trying to insult you by following them."

"I take it by your words you have already done so?"

I gestured at the window. "Yes, my lord, you may be able to see them in the courtyard. I came up to alert to you the situation so that you could lock them up." The baron seemed nonplused by this news. He stared down at the courtyard. His lips moved silently. He frowned at me.

"Why are there only eight?" I was taken aback by the question.

"W-e-e-ll, when I took them prisoner. I shot their leader and the two crossbowmen. I had no choice." A thought occurred to me. "How did you know how many bandits there were?"

"There were reports by those who were robbed," he commented off hand. That satisfied me. The baron took a deep breath and seemed to make up his mind about something. He exhaled and clasped hand behind his back.

"Very well, Ranger. There are accommodations for guests. I'll have my secretary show you to them." There was a pause and then he added, "I'll have dinner sent up to you so you can rest."

"Thank you, my lord." The baron tapped the bell on his desk and almost immediately the secretary popped his head in. "You called?"

"Yes, Olaf, show the Ranger to his rooms, if you would be so kind." The baron said the last with special emphasis. The secretary shot him an nettled look. Interesting, I thought. Olaf the secretary beckoned to me.

"Come on then, Ranger." I followed him out of the office and whistled to Brindle to heel. "That is one fine animal," commented Olaf. He reached out his hand to pet Brindle. The growl and bared fangs stopped the descent of his hand. He hastily withdrew it. Brindle had never let anyone but me touch him. With an embarrassed look at me, he set off at a furious pace through the corridors.

"This is an interesting place," I commented to Brindle. He made a grumbling sound in response to my words.

My accommodations were rather sparse; a wobbly chair, a small table, and a cot with a thin mattress were the sum total of the furniture. I wasn't complaining. It was inside a building, which is an unheard of luxury for me or Brindle. I didn't stay in the room long after Olaf left. I just glanced around and then went back down to the courtyard to care for Patch. As I was leading Patch to the stable, castle guards were hustling the group of bandits away. The carriage had disappeared, so to had Kareth and Yolanda. I didn't give much thought to them. I figured they were visiting family or making some other kind of social call.

Unlike the rest of the castle so far, the stables were comfortable and inviting. There were a few stable boys lounging against the stalls. They looked up as I entered and moved forward to take Patch's reins, but I said I was in no need of help. I took off the saddle and rubbed Patch down. I forked fresh hay into his manger and then drew water from the well. I was really thirsty so I drank some. An indeterminable time passed in the stable, while I absently stroked Patch's nose with one hand and scratched behind Brindle's ears with the other.

It was hard dark when I left. Brindle still followed at my heels. Because of my uneasiness of mind, I wanted the comfort of a friend. He would be useful in a fight, whispered a voice in my head.

You won't need to fight, I soothed. As soon as dawn comes, I can go.

Where will you go then, hmm? mocked the voice. This will come out sooner or later.

There are plenty of places to hide in Araluen. I know woodcraft on par with Rangers. Besides, if all else fails, I can probably find passage to the neighboring countries of Hibernia or Gallica.

You know you can't, the ports would be watched, hissed the voice. I shook my head to clear my thoughts. It felt as though a haze of doom and despair was hanging over my head like a thundercloud full of rain and lightning.. There was a tray of food in my room when I returned. There was half a loaf of crusty bread still hot from the oven with a liberal dollop of butter in a dish, a chicken leg, a hunk of cheese, and a mug of ale, in short, a feast. Beside the plate was a bowl of scraps that I surmised were intended for Brindle's dinner. We both inhaled the food. It was the best I had had in a long time. I wasn't that thirsty after drinking from the well, so I didn't reach for the ale until I had finished all the other food. Brindle came over and lay on my feet, his own way of expressing love. I sipped the ale, paused savoring the taste, and then spluttered. Brindle jerked awake at the unexpected noise. I spat into the mug to clear my mouth of the offending liquid and then wiped my tongue and lips on my sleeve.

Bitter-root. That was what I ate when I was a kid and almost died from it. I know the taste better than most. It's rather nasty, so I won't give a description of what it does suffice this: it will kill you in two days at the most. There are remedies, but they mostly depend on the speed of the care and the patient being strong in the first place. I swallowed hard. Someone wanted me dead. Why else would they put it in my drink? He or she was clever. The flavor of the poison was masked well by the ale. If I had not eaten it before, I never would have known what the taste was, and besides, if I had been drinking the ale along with the food, I never would have noticed. Fear prickled my spine. I shivered.

That was a very, very close call.


	10. Chapter 10

_Sorry for the long wait, summer is no less hectic than the school year. Enjoy the chapter! Cheers!_

I stood up and crept silently to the window. I peered down into the courtyard, but couldn't see the gate. Light from fires on the walls illumined nothing but the guards as they marched to and fro on watch. I thoughtfully pressed the sash upward, and found it moved freely. Open, there was enough space to squeeze through. I stuck my head to look up and down. The stone of the castle wall was craggy with age. Scaling it would be like a walk in the woods. I considered for a moment. I could climb down and disappear into the night, but the price would be leaving both Brindle and Patch. That was a price I couldn't, wouldn't, pay. I swore under my breath. Out of frustration, I started pacing. I didn't know what to do, but I didn't want to stay put. After a while, a question occurred to me. Why? Why had someone tried to poison me? I paced faster, trying to order my thoughts. If someone had wanted to kill me, why hadn't they used something that acted quicker? Namely, an arrow. Well, I guess they didn't want to kill me. Not overtly, anyway. Maybe they just needed a little time. Something the baron said came back to me almost with a sound like a thunderclap, "…the next patroller was not due for two more weeks." Two weeks. I was unexpected. There was no Ranger at the fief all the time. Of course. There had been killings and banishment of senior Rangers before Morgarath had come into open rebellion. Maybe the Corps just couldn't keep a Ranger in every fief. So, they probably had assigned a Ranger to do a circuit. If the baron was planning something illegal, it would certainly happen while the Ranger was gone, unless of course, another showed up, in which case, he would have to be dealt with. I stared out the window wondering if I was possibly right, or if there was another reason for the facts. If I was right, something had to be planned for tonight, something important, or else the baron just would have waited till the next night when I was gone. Then I frowned, realizing what I had not said. I had failed to state I was leaving. I said my mission was to apprehend the bandits. Maybe the baron thought I would be staying around for the trial of the robbers. That would mean staying several weeks. I felt apathy slowing creeping into my soul. Whatever the baron was doing, I could not very well do anything about it. I wasn't a Ranger, and needed to disappear as quickly as possible, before someone figured that out. It's not as though-, my thoughts broke off in mid stream as I heard footsteps in the corridor outside.

I whirled around and darted to the door. My saxe knife was in mine hand before I consciously thought to draw it. I stood behind the door, waiting and tense. The footsteps were not thunderous, but the person making them obviously never had training in silent movement. They stopped outside my door. My breath was coming in short gasps but it did not make any sound as it passed through my mouth. The handle of the door began to turn excruciatingly slowly. And then, inch by inch the door opened. I could hear the man breathe. I was so close to him that I smelled his nervous sweat. Cautiously, he took a step into the room. His head swept from side to side as he raised his foot for another step. Just before his gaze reached me, I struck. The hand holding my saxe lashed out driving the hilt into the man's stomach. There was an, "Oof" as the air was knocked out of him. As he doubled over in pain, my hands snaked around his head, my left flat, but my right still holding my saxe. I hugged his head to my chest, then twisted and dropped my weight throwing his head, and by extension his body, to the ground. I dropped my entire weight, through my left knee, on the man's throat and dug my saxe knife in under his chin. This took a matter of a very few seconds. While the man made gagging sounds because of the knee on his neck, I looked at his face for the first time.

It was the secretary.

Both his hands were trying to raise my knee. I eased up, but dug my knife in a little farther. He gasped for air, but it had an odd sound. I realized he was laughing. "I guess you're alright after all, Ranger," he choked out at last. I was angry, but with a struggle I kept my voice fairly calm.

"Was it you who tried to poison me?"

He tried to shake and nod his head at the same time, but stopped rapidly when the knife pricked his throat. "I didn't order it."

"Does it matter who did?"

"Naturally."

I cocked my head and raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"It's the difference between a life and a death."

"Whose?"

"Mine, of course," he snapped. I fought down annoyance with his incivility.

"And what do orders have to do with your life and death?"

"The baron's blackmailing me. I had expected that a Ranger would catch on faster." He paused for a moment, waiting for me to react. "Will you let me up now?" he demanded. I sheathed my knife, grabbed his collar and pulled him to his feet as I stood.

"The 'if you could be so kind' was a signal, wasn't it? That's why you looked annoyed."

"No. It is just something he says a lot," he said rubbing his throat. He kicked the door shut. "May I sit down?" I gestured to the chair.

"I have time to explain what is going on. When you understand, you will have to act quickly."

"Why just me?" I questioned with a touch of sarcasm.

"Because I cannot fight," responded Olaf with a hint of a smile.

I was still angry at him for trying to kill me, even if he was being blackmailed. "You certainly know enough about poisons to hurt someone."

Olaf inclined his head. "Certainly, but putting a powder in a drink is not swinging a sword."

"Why didn't you just poison the baron and have done with it?" I said as I sat down on the cot. Olaf turned the chair to face me. He laughed bitterly.

"I would give almost anything to do that, but the captain of the guard, Ackley, would still kill my wife and children," as an afterthought he added, "and me."

"Lovely." My voice was heavy with sarcasm. Olaf seemed annoyed by it.

"If you don't mind, I'll start explaining." I swept my hand out in a _go ahead_ kind of gesture.

"I just hope that it makes more sense than most of the other things around here." Olaf pursed his lips but instead of responding in kind, he started his story.

"Things started five years ago after the battle of Hackham Heath. The Rangers were shorthanded and couldn't keep a man here all the time. I don't know the full extent of what the baron has done in that time, but I know nothing good." The man paused, looking unsure. "Things have been disappearing. The guards have been hired from a rougher sort, and the officers haven't been calling them to account for violence in the tavern and village." I noted that he did not use the plural of tavern. There must be few people in the town for there to be only one inn. "I had worked in the kitchens as an assistant cook for about three years. Last year, the baron called me to his office. I have a…checkered past. I was afraid that was going to come up." Olaf sighed. "He put an offer to me. He told me that he was sick of the meddling Ranger—I won't repeat the word he used—and was going to make some money if they didn't interfere." He looked ashamed, and continued softly, "The robbers that you just arrested were a group recruited by the guardsmen. The baron just wanted me as a cook. He said I would get a share of the loot." Olaf looked miserable as he spoke the last part. "When I asked him what the other option was, he said that he couldn't let me walk away knowing what he was doing. I told him that I would be the cook. That night, my wife, four kids, and I tried to escape. I don't think we made it even three miles before they caught us. The baron made us move into the castle after that. My family lives in the keep and I work for the baron. There is nothing I can do but obey. They'll kill me family if I do anything." There was a desperate hysterical note in his voice. I stood.

"I wish you the best of luck with your problem. If you don't mind though, it's late and I need to sleep," I couldn't say anything else without breaking and helping him. Shock blanked his face as what I said registered. In less time than it takes to tell of it, that emotion was replaced with red hot anger.

"What?" he almost shouted, "What do you mean 'good luck'? You're a Ranger! Do something!" I did not meet his gaze.

"Olaf, I am no more a Ranger then you are a secretary." This new information stalled his anger.

"W-w-what? You carry a silver oak leaf. Did you kill…" His sentence trailed off.

"No. I didn't kill a Ranger. It was my father's. He died at Hackham Heath."

Olaf shook his head unbelievingly. "You do have skill though, right? I mean, you brought in the bandits." I shrugged.

"Sure I did. I just had surprise, pretended authority, three easy shots and a wolf that chewed a man up. That's all. Now I really need to leave in the morning so that I can hightail it to Celtica where I can't be executed for impersonating a Ranger." The words were cold in my mouth, and I felt miserable uttering them. There was despair in Olaf's face.

"You can't even try?" I chewed my lip contemplatively.

"Maybe," I sat back down.

"Someone needs to do something because the baron is going to let the bandits out tonight. He wants to make it look like they escaped." I nodded.

"They know the country better than I do," I commented, "They could all scatter to the winds and at most I would catch one of them."

"That's exactly what the baron wants."

"I'll do what I can. Just answer a few questions for me."


	11. Chapter 11

_Thank you all for your patience as I have left you hanging for weeks on end. I have been doing things this summer, like going on a mission trip to Argentina, that while very worthwhile, leave little time for writing. I hope you enjoy this installment, and I will try to add another soon. God Bless! :)_

I wasn't sure what to do. The last thing I needed was more people who needed my help. Inwardly, I sighed. Outwardly, I put on a thinking face. I had chosen to play the part of a Ranger, I must act as my father would have.

"How many of the garrison know the baron's connection?"

"Not many. I think just the officers."

"Hmmm. That might work to our advantage."

Olaf shook his head. "I don't think it will as much as you think. Most of the men have been given the night off." I digested that piece of information.

"Where's the entrance to the dungeons?"

"In the wall. The stairs lead down to rooms dug underneath the courtyard."

"I could bottleneck the bandit in the courtyard if I shot from the wall. The problem would be getting the guards away." Silence fell as Olaf looked at me expectantly. "The real question is: have the bandits had dinner yet?" I got up and started pacing again. If only Olaf could put a sleeping potion in the bandits drink. They would be out like a light. Then what? I couldn't arrest the baron; I had no real rank. Who did? Of course, the lord Kareth. Besides, he owed me a favor. What then? I could run with the secretary, his wife and children? But freed from the threat of death, they wouldn't leave. Despair engulfed me. I've never been a really good planner. Given time, I can come up with viable plans, but not under this much pressure. Olaf was watching me. I paused at the window once more and stared out without seeing. The moon had risen and had silvered the wall and surrounding country. My brain had reached a stopping point. I could fight off pursuers for a while, but where could I go? I could flee the country, go to Celtica and catch a ship to Hibernia or Gallica. Deep sadness filled me. I looked toward the wall watching the fires glowing cheerfully on the wall. Araluen was as much a home as I had ever had. I didn't speak much of any other language, what could- my thought broke off with a jolt.

There were no sentries on the wall; their shadows no longer passed to and fro in front of the flames.

I wheeled around. "Olaf! Take your wife and children down to the stables. If you know how, saddle the black and white horse, he's mine. If any of you can ride, saddle the others." I spoke to Brindle. "Brindle!" his ears pricked up. "Go to Patch." I flicked my hand toward the door. "Find Patch." Brindle padded to the door then reared up on his hind legs and pressed down on the handle with his front paws. The door opened and Brindle slipped away into the corridor. Olaf stood up, sensing my urgency, but hadn't moved toward the now open door.

"What's going on?"

I picked up on bow and quiver and slung both over my shoulder. It would be difficult to climb with them, but there was no way I was leaving my main weapon behind. As I opened the window, I replied, "The guards are off the walls. It's begun. Go!" The last word spurred Olaf to action and he darted from the room. I clambered out onto the sill and began to descend the outside of the keep. I glanced down. It was about four stories from my window to where the keep melded smoothly with the wall. I was glad now that I was not in a room facing the courtyard. If that had been true, I would have had to climb sideways along the curved surface of the keep.

Oops, just realized this account has no description of the keep. Let me clarify what it looked like. It was almost square with the courtyard in one corner and the rest of the castle in one piece with the wall. There were guard towers at each of the corners. I set foot on the wall about midway between two guard towers. I looked down in the courtyard.

There was no one there. The awnings of the merchants swayed slightly in the light breeze adding the fluttering sound of canvas to the soft nighttime sounds. The back of my neck prickled. I reached slowly for my bow, trying to make no sound. As I slipped it off my back, the doors of the guard houses on either side of me burst open. Men flooded out. Now that I think about it, there were probably only seven or eight men on each side, but in the moment, it seemed like an army. There were four crossbowmen, two on either side. A tall man led on party. His face was shadowed so I couldn't make it out. He called to me across the open space between us. "Stand down, Tony. There is nowhere for you to go." I froze to a split second, trying to process what was going on. The man advanced. "Lay down your bow!" he commanded. Those words were like a slap in the face. I was not going to give up my bow to anyone. Deciding in the moment, I threw myself sideways to the ground and rolled off the wall toward the courtyard. I heard the hiss of crossbow bolts as I fell. I hoped to land on one of the awnings.

In retrospect, the my spur of the moment plan was stupid. If I was going to jump off a wall, I should've picked the other side and taken my chances diving into the moat. As it is, I don't exactly know what happened. I felt my feet strike the cloth of an awning but then I fell on my side against one of the two supports and saw bright lights as I felt some of my ribs give way. I fell a little farther, so I guess I broke the support. I blacked out when I landed so I know I hit my head.

I don't understand why I woke up in a bed in the castle. I just did. When I woke up, I didn't open my eyes immediately because I had a terrible headache, and I heard people talking. Said the first voice, "You can't move her. She's broken three ribs, cracked two other, dislocated her shoulder, and may have a concussion as well."

The second voice sounded a lot like the lord Kareth, but I wasn't sure. "Nevertheless, she must stand trial in Castle Araluen as soon as may be. There will be a Ranger to collect in five days at the earliest. She must be ready by then, injuries or no."

First voice again, "My lord must do what he thinks best."

"Thank you, Olaf." Olaf? The secretary? What was he doing still alive? Shouldn't he be dead? For that matter, why was I still alive? I guessed that I had been found out, the stuff about trial made that clear. I watched from under my eyelids as Olaf entered the room and checked on me. He did not stay long. As soon as he left I sat up slowly. My left side screamed with pain whenever I breathed deeply or moved my upper body. My left arm was in a sling and the shoulder joint howled when I tried to lift my arm. I still had my own clothes on, but I could feel a bandage around my ribs. My bow and quiver were leaning against the wall with my knife belt and cloak laid beside them. I understood from the conversation outside that I had to leave. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up, and nearly blacked out from pain. I fell back to the bed amid more shrieks from my side. I had five days before a Ranger came to take me to castle Araluen. I had to leave before then or die. I pulled the covers up with my right hand as I settled back onto the bed. I might as well sleep as much as I could.

It was still dark in the early morning on the fourth day since my fall. I moved gingerly, wincing in pain, as I got out of bed, tied my shoes, buckled on my knives and carefully swung my cloak over my shoulders. I pulled up the cowl. I put the quiver on and carried the bow, even though there was no way I could use it. I was able to lean upon it somewhat. I crept down the stairs, moving slowly for quietness's sake, and because my injuries prevented moving faster. Fortunately, I was only on the second floor so I didn't have to go very far to get the courtyard. I peered around the wall, and when the coast was clear, slunk to the stable. As I entered, Brindle jumped up, wagging and whining joyfully. Four days was probably the longest we'd ever been apart.

With much effort and pain, I was able to lift Patch's saddle onto his back and fasten it. I didn't mount in the stable. I led Patch almost silently to the gatehouse where there was a guard. Drawing my saxe knife, I slipped up and struck him sounding behind the ear. He slumped like a dead man. Until the stars cleared from my vision, I gripped the back of his chair. Then I swiped the keys from his belt, unlocked the side door, and tossed the keys backing into the courtyard. I led Patch out across the three planks that made up a makeshift bridge for the moat. Brindle padded behind like a shadow. Once outside the gate, I looked around for a rock to use as a mounting block. Finding one, I stepped up onto it, and heaved myself with a groan onto Patch. I swayed drunkenly in the saddle. Patch looked at me as if to say, Are you okay?

"Of course I'm not okay," I muttered irritably. I gritted my teeth, and urged Patch into a fast walk. I knew I would have to go more quickly to escape, but I couldn't handle anything more bouncy at the moment.


	12. Chapter 12

I don't know how far I got. I rode all day and into the night. I started coughing around midnight from the chill and damp. By the time the sun rose, the world was swimming through a haze of weariness and pain. My side was on fire. I had left the beaten trail and was travelling in as straight a line as possible toward Celtica. My only hope was to disappear there. The ground grew more rocky and barren. The sun beat mercilessly down on my back. Each jolt of Patch's hooves felt like a hammer blow. My cough was getting worse. Abruptly, the world turned wildly. After staring at the sky for several seconds, my fevered brain belatedly realized I had fallen.

I was watching the clouds dully, when Patch's looming nose filled my vision, and his whiskery lips wetly nibbled my face. There seemed to be a quizzical expression on his face, as if you say, _Do you need help? Or can I just lick your face while you rest?_ Brindle also came into view and stopped panting to nudge me with his cold nose. About a minute later, I finally forced my right hand up to grasp Patch's halter. With a groan of pain, I pulled myself into a sitting position. A coughing fit hit, and doubled me over. Black spots danced in my vision. Brindle sniffed and licked the back of my neck. I smiled a little and would have rubbed his ears, if I was able to twist around.

I sat there as if frozen; too tired to move, or try to go on. I was near the crest of a hill and a beautiful expanse of woodland stretched out before me like a painting. Staring at that beauty, my heart died within me. The spirit and will-power that drove me to try and escape against all odds melted away like snow in summer sun. With the passing of that goal, came the calm, indisputable certainty that I would die out there, or I would be caught and dragged to court, which amounted to about the same thing. There was a tree about six feet from where I sat. Half-crawling, have dragging myself, I reached the tree and leaned against it. Patch nuzzled me and then put his head down to graze. Brindle lay down by my side like a watched dog. I leaned my head back, waiting for death, or a Ranger.

After what seemed an eternity, hoofbeats startled me from sleep. I moaned a little. Desperation built in my chest. I wanted to run, to hide. I struggled to rise, but fell back coughing. What was I going to do anyway? I berated myself. I couldn't fight a Ranger, not unless I sicced Brindle on him. I didn't want to be a murderer, and certainly not of a Ranger. The hooves grew closer. I finally distinguished the Ranger emerging from the trees. I started coughing again. He took in the situation in an instant. He dismounted hurriedly and threw back his cowl as he knelt down beside me. "Oh, no. No no no." His face was worried. His features swam in an out of focus. He put his hand on my chin and looked into my face. "Maia! Talk to me." I thought I was hallucinating. I coughed again. He felt my forehead and his cheeks completely drained of color. "You're burning up, I've got to get you to help." He glanced around. He deftly caught Patch's reins and looped the around his saddle horn. He studied Brindle then shrugged to himself. "Come along if you want, wolf." To this day, I don't know why Brindle didn't attack him. I felt myself lifted in his strong arms. He spoke again but his voice was fading in and out; sometime clear as a chime, sometime fuzzy and impossible to understand. Besides, the words didn't seem to be for me. "Sirius, she's in no fit state to say the password. Please let her ride this once." I felt myself lifted onto a horse's back. The Ranger climbed up behind me. As my mind spiraled out of touch with reality, the two voices in my mind were arguing again.

The Ranger is Maldon, stated Voice 1 emphatically.

Maldon's dead. Baron Sleslee told me, responded Voice 2.

You never saw him dead. There may be hope, Voice 1 fired back

Yes, but…..

Voice 2 never finished replying.

_Don't worry, there is one more chapter. I will try to post it this week or the next. God Bless! :)_


	13. Chapter 13

I thought I'd never see this old piece of parchment again. Reading it again, it makes me smile. I was so young then. Maldon and I have had a bunch of laughs about old times even before Crowley dragged this relic from the depths of the Ranger Archives. Today is the tenth anniversary of my trial. Crowley thought it would be fitting to finish the account of my life. The sun is shining outside. The birds are singing. The battle school apprentices' practice is sending the thud of wood and the noise of shouts drifting through the open window. Naturally, I'm stuck indoors. Well, I might as well get started. Where was I? Ah yes. I was blacking out. I woke up many times over the next two weeks, but I wasn't really lucid until the end of them. At that point I was escorted to castle Araluen to stand trial. I was to write my story, so that is how I came to be writing in the Ranger Archives. When I was writing the first time, I was going to add the account of what happened after I fell unconscious, but Crowley entered the room, read what I had done so far, and said not to bother with the end. He studied me for a minute after that then commented, "Bit of a dramatic ending, don't you think?"

"Maybe," I stared at him hard. "If I'm going to die, I have the right to tell my story my way."

He met my gaze frankly but with a quizzical look on his face. "Do you think that you are going to be executed?"

I don't think there was any expression on my face. "That is the penalty."

He chuckled softly, but stopped when he saw the look of shock on my face. "Heh…well…That's not how it works." The questions "what?" was written all over my face. So much for expressionless. "See," continued Crowley, "the king is more impressed than angry with you. You risked your life just to save two people. Kareth told him about that."

"Kareth? He works for the king?"

"What? Yes. He's one of the few lords who works as a go-between with the Ranger corps and the king. I'm guessing that he is one of the only people who could have recognized that you weren't a Ranger." A humorless smile tugged at the corners of my mouth.

"Just my luck to run into that guy." Crowley studied me.

"I should tell you what really happened a Seacliff."

This time, the question burst out of me. "What do you mean, 'What really happened?'"

"The lord Kareth knew you weren't a Ranger and so put a sleeping herb in your drink. You said in your account it tasted like bitter root, which really explains your actions. He wanted to incapacitate you to make sure-"

"Olaf said he poisoned it," I cut in.

"Lord Kareth always has more than one plan in place. He made up a story for Olaf to tell if you weren't asleep. Obviously, he is a convincing actor." I leaned back in my seat. My reality had just changed so much I felt the tipping sensation of vertigo. The silence stretched for several seconds.

"So, Olaf's family wasn't in danger?"

"No." Crowley gave me a few more seconds to think before prodding, "The king said he was ready for you if you were well."

I stood up mechanically, duly feeling pain from my side, and nodded. "I am."

"Well then, let's go."

We descended many flights of stairs and wound through myriad hallways before reaching the Great Hall. I tried to memorize the route, but it was so tortuous, that I got lost halfway through. Crowley held my right elbow as we traversed the almost endless hall. While the lofty ceilings softly echoed the slight scuff of our cloth soled boots, I stared toward the throne on which the young king Duncan sat, with only a secretary standing beside him for company. When we reached the bottom step of the throne's raised dais, I sank to my left knee. As I bowed my head homage, my left hand slipped backwards and scrabbled in my boot. I stuck my finger under a flap, pulled out a small knife, and held it close to my body and hidden in the palm of my hand.

"Rise, Maia," commanded the king calmly. I did, but kept my head bowed and my left hand under my cloak. "Look me in the face." Hesitantly, I raised my eyes to meet his. They were gentle but stern. "You have impersonated one of my Rangers." I neither nodded nor shook my head, it was a statement not a question. "What should your punishment be?" I was taken aback. I wasn't sure how to respond. In all the court cases I'd heard of, the king just pronounced judgment. I shifted my eyes to look over the king's left shoulder.

"I don't know, my lord. I suppose whatever punishment you see fit." The king gave a bark of mirthless laughter.

"It always must be that way." He sighed and spoke to Crowley. "I fear I am too young for this judgment. I am not certain what the sentence should be." I sneaked a look at Crowley and then stared back at the king. It suddenly struck me that King Duncan was probably only a year or two older than me. Crowley shifted his weight.

"I don't think she should be executed, sire. She impersonated a Ranger to help people in need." Duncan gestured impatiently.

"I know that already. What would you have me do? To do nothing sets a dangerous precedent for other cases."

"We discussed this at length and I stand by my former statement," answered Crowley rather mulishly. The king shook his head with an equally stubborn look on his face.

"You already know I will not give that position to a lying vagabond." I felt heat mount to my face. I had a plan, but I could not let this insult slide. I spoke.

"My lord," the king looked at me, "I think you do me wrong if you would call me a vagabond." I met his gaze, with anger simmering beneath a calm surface. "My father was a Ranger." I lifted my chin. "I would have been one also had I not been born a woman." I barely suppressed a surge of anger and looked down. "My father died at Hackham Heath, my lord." Once I had control of myself again, I peered up from beneath my brows and saw the king had softened.

He glanced at Crowley. "Is what she says true?"

"Yes. I knew Anthony had a daughter, and he did apply to have her admitted to the Ranger Corps. She was able to impersonate a Ranger because she used her father's silver oak leaf." The king took a deep breath and nodded. "Maia,—"

"My lord?" I broke in. He seemed annoyed, but waved a hand for me to continue. "My lord, you said before that you could not trust me. I understand that. However, I don't mean you any harm. I can prove it." A mocking smile danced around the corners of my mouth. He tilted his head to one side.

"How?" he questioned.

"If I meant you harm, you would already be dead." As I spoke, I moved my left hand forward and flipped the knife in the air and caught it by the tip to throw. Both the king and Crowley realized that had I thrown the knife in one smooth motion, there would have been no way for anyone to block it. The king's gaze was suddenly harder and more appraising.

"You must have some skill with concealment to have smuggled that in here." I said nothing, but thought 'All it took was some skill to modify my boots and the presence of mind to leave that out of the account.' The king looked at Crowley once more and said, "Very well it will be as you said." I turned toward Crowley. He glanced once at the king and spoke to me.

"You will be allowed to join the Diplomats" The shock to my brain was nearly total. I had committed a crime and I was being, rewarded? "You have talents and skills that would be invaluable to the king. There are few women who can defend themselves as well and think as quickly as you can." My face was blanked of emotion by surprise. Crowley understood my look. "This isn't voluntary," he said gently, "Either you can work for the Diplomats and serve the king or rot in the dungeons of Araluen for your crime." I bowed.

"I cannot thank you enough." Crowley smiled a little.

"Thank the king," he jokingly admonished.

I did so.

"With your leave sire," asked Crowley,"we will go meet her new teacher." Duncan nodded, so we both bowed and left the hall. And with that, I began a new chapter of my life.

THE END

_I hope you enjoyed this lengthy story. If you like, stay tuned, and I will tell Maldon's story; how he was presumed dead, gained Ranger training, why the letter sent to Maia was so out of character for the good old Ranger Crowley, and of course what happened after Maldon's and Maia's lives became intertwined once more. Thanks so much for reading! God bless! :)_


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